Before the Dutchman
by Stutley Constable
Summary: Where did the Flying Dutchman come from and how did Jones become its captain?


**Legal Note:** I do not own any of the characters associated with Pirates of the Carribean. I do not have any legal right to use them or any other proprietary words originating from these movies. This story was done just for the fun of it. Not for profit. If you like it please tell me. If you don't like it please tell me why with particulars but not excessive detail. Any one who wants to rip on my style or me just to make them self feel better is really only polishing their wand and their statements will receive the due amount of interest (i.e. NONE). And finally before any one brings it up: I do know my punctuation stinks. I just don't care.

**Summary:** Where did the Flying Dutchman come from and how did Jones become its captain?

Jones watched as the ship came into sight. He clung to the broken rail thinking the sea would take him before the ship got to him. His strength was going. Even if the ship rescued him would he still have the strength to do what he had set himself to do? Would he still be able to fulfill his promise? The storm continued to rage about him and the waves rammed his boat against the rocks. Perhaps he was a fool. He did not know nor did he care. He had vowed to do this thing.

As the ship neared him he made out its lines and his eyes widened in wonder. It was like none he had ever seen. Long and low to the water with a great ram of bronze on the prow. Oars struck the waves in measured time. He could see only one soul aboard standing at the tiller dressed in a cloak to shed the rain and spume. How? How could this thing exist? How did the oars move? He would know soon enough. It cut its way through the waves as if they were not there.

Now the other men on this broken boat saw the ship coming and some took heart. They struggled to wave to it and still hold on. The steersman did not acknowledge their pleas but on he came driving into the wind. Finally the beaked prow of the ship was along side the wreck and the man at the tiller moved to grasp the up raised hands. With inhuman strength he lifted them onto his deck and set them down. Jones was the last he pulled aboard.

Without a word the man returned to his tiller and steered clear of the wreck out to the open sea. Around him the rescued men comforted each other as best they could.

"Thank God you came for us!" One called to the steersman. "What port are you out of?"

"Ogygia is my home for many a year." The steersman called back.

"I've never heard of it, friend." The man looked around. Jones watched him and saw the dawning light of understanding. "What ship is this?"

"The Charon." The steersman replied. "Last of the ships of the Phaeacians."

"The who?" The man asked bewildered. The steersman did not answer.

Jones knew the tale and knew what he must do but his limbs were stiff from the cold ocean waters. He waited and watched.

"Who are you?" Another man had roused himself and had realized the nature of the ship they had embarked upon.

"I am Aristaeus. Fear not. Your time of suffering is over." The steersman told them. He squinted into the rain and leaned on his tiller. "Soon you will be home. Never will you need to set to sea again."

The other men were now confused but Jones understood. He watched Aristaeus work the tiller and gaged the man's strength. Brawny and tall but not too tall. Aristaeus was unarmed. Jones reckoned he had a better than even chance if only his joints would loosen up.

"What are you telling us? If we don't go to sea our families will starve. We're fishermen." Objected the first man.

Aristaeus smiled at him. "You were fishermen. Now you'll be memories for your families. You'll see. All will be plain. We'll be home soon."

"Charon." The man next to Jones breathed "We're dead."

"I'm sorry." Aristaeus said. The look in his eyes was filled with compassion. "Truly, friend. But what I've said is also true. You will not suffer where you are going."

The ship sailed on in silence for a time unreckonable. It broke through the edge of the storm and on it drove to the horizon. In dawning light a distant shore could be seen and toward this the ship rowed. They were met by a shale beach and the ship slowed so that when its great bronze ram struck they barely felt the crush of rock beneath the keel.

"This is home for you now." Aristaeus moved between the oars to the head of the ship. "Follow the path there and you'll find what you're looking for. Be at peace."

The big man began to lift his passengers from the deck and set them one by one onto the beach. They walked unsteadily toward the path. They were uncertain of what lay beyond and feared the worst. Yet they walked to it.

Finally it was time for Jones to go over the side but he held up a hand. Aristaeus stopped and raised his brows in question.

"Who are you?" Jones asked.

"I've told you. Aristaeus."

"Yes. But who are you?" Jones persisted.

"I am the ferryman. I was a soldier of the Argive host that sacked the sacred town of Ilion." Aristaeus sat upon one of the many benches and narrowed his eyes at Jones. "You aren't like the others. You knew the Charon would come."

"I did." Jones stared at the Greek.

"I felt it. I've been bringing souls here for many ages of men." Aristaeus regarded Jones for a moment then went on. "I was washed overboard from my ship on our way home from the sacred citadel. Alone at sea for I don't know how long. Then came the dolphins. They bore me up from the water and took me to the shores of Ogygia. I lay on the beach. From a hidden grotto came Calypso the sea nymph. A goddess in human form. Around her, other nymphs were her maids. To her house they bore me and with care they restored my life. She told me of brave Odysseus and how the gods had forced her to give him up. But she did not want to give me up. She said though that they would grow jealous again if she kept me on her island. So she charged me with the task of ferrying souls lost at sea to these shores. She said she would love me always. She said I would live forever. But I could set foot on land only one day every ten years. And on that day she would love me as none other. Forever is a long time. I'm tired."

Jones steeled himself as he watched Aristaeus reach inside his cloak. But it was not a weapon the big man brought out. It was a box, small and made of wood. Jones looked at it. There were no markings. Now embellishments. Only a wooden box. Aristaeus extended his hand and turned up the lid. Within the box was a human heart still beating. The two looked at each other a long moment.

"Strike now or go ashore." Aristaeus' voice was calm. Resigned.

"You aren't going to try to stop me?" Jones queried.

"If you strike, one day you'll understand." Was all Aristaeus said. His eyes rested on Jones. It was as if he really did not care. In those eyes Jones saw weariness and longing. And he struck. His dagger drove through the heart and stilled its centuries of beating. He lifted Aristaeus over the side and let him drop lifeless to the beach. Turning his dagger to his own breast he braced himself unsure but intent and drove the point in.

As the Charon drew itself off the shore Aristaeus rose clumsily from the sand and shook himself. With a wave he turned to the path and stumbled up the shale. Jones smiled to himself. Calypso would be his. His for eternity. The Charon began to change even as it cut its way back out to sea. It lengthened and grew until it became a tall ship with masts and sails. The wind drove it over the waters and Davy Jones stood at its helm.


End file.
